


Spectral Gala

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Happy Halloween!, Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, References to Child Abuse, Uncertain Circumstances, i hope you find this spoonky!, some of them sweet klance kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s in this weird moment, under a flickering street lamp trying desperately to turn itself on, in the parking lot of a Pik Quik, that Lance’s story begins and ends.





	Spectral Gala

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melancholymango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholymango/gifts).



Lance lives in the shithole, bad side of town, near Motel Boulevard and sandwiched between the city and where those rich eccentric fucks lorded over everyone on their big, rural mansions. It’s sunset; the sun is red like fire and the clouds are glowing gold and pink and it’s beautiful. The air has just enough chill that Lance is glad he brought his jacket, but not enough for him to really want to be wearing it.

It’s in this weird moment, under a flickering street lamp trying desperately to turn itself on, in the parking lot of a Pik Quik, that Lance’s story begins.

“Have somewhere to go?” The stranger asks. He’s cute, wearing a leather jacket with too many patches stuck to it, all saying things about aliens and ghosts and political slogans that Lance is too hispanic to feel comfortable with wearing.

“I don’t,” Lance answers, because he’s still wondering if he gets lucky if he can grab the boy’s hand, hold it, maybe kiss him.

“Cool. I’m gonna show you a place no one else knows about,” He grins. “I’m Keith.”

“I’m Lance,” Lance says, and feels stupid, like his tongue is too thick in his mouth. He’s supposed to be home in 15 minutes but he’s pissed at his parents and he wants to be a rebel, just this once.

He sits down on the back of Keith’s red, glossy and scratched, old and cherished, motorbike and lets this near stranger drive him off into the distance. Lance memorizes the slogan, “Fight like a Girl” from the back of Keith’s jacket, right next to the one that says “Explore” with a little mountain made of constellations, and he inhales the scent of boy and sweat and gasoline.

Keith drives for so long that Lance’s legs get numb, and when they stop, the vertigo doesn’t. Lance spins on his feet, looking out into the desert.

“Where’d we go?” He asks.

“A place no one else knows but us,” Keith replies, taking Lance’s hand like he wanted all along. “Come on, it’s cool. I’ll show you.”

There’s distant music, wild and heavy, and the thump of the bass matches Lance’s pounding heartbeat as they walk hand and hand forward. The desert is loud around them, with crickets and bats and owls hooting and bugs buzzing. With the howls of coyotes and the wind rustling in the bushes.

Keith uses his leather gloves on his hands to shove away cacti debris, clearing a path through the bush until they can see an arroyo before them. It’s lit up with rows upon rows of luminerias, like Christmas, except the moon grants it all a ghastly green glow. Spider webs hang off Ocotillo, and red eyes flash in the dark of night. There’s movement down there, people, a whole great party of them.

Heat settles into Lance’s bones, hot and scorching and almost unpleasant, but it feels good. It makes him want to dance, to move, to join the crowd. Whatever chill Lance felt before, he didn’t feel a trace of now, but Keith is shivering even though he is wearing his leather jacket with the patches.

“Here,” Lance says, handing Keith his jacket. “You’re cold, right?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith replies.

The music gets louder as they pick their way down the slope into the arroyo itself, and suddenly Lance is surrounded by dancing bodies, by people in all manners of Halloween costumes. He’s almost separated from Keith by dozens of grinning skeletal faces, but the boy snatches his hand and tugs him back before he gets truly lost.

“They like your costume,” Keith says, smiling, as he put on Lance’s jacket. It was big on him, almost falling off one of the shoulders, ending somewhere around Keith’s thighs instead of his waist. It’s cute. It looks like a costume.

But Lance isn’t wearing a costume. These are just his clothes.

“Thanks,” Lance says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s wearing jeans and a blue and white raglan tee. Maybe he looks like a cartoon character from a show he’s never seen. Maybe Keith is making fun of him.

Everyone else is wearing ball gowns and suits and classic mariachi outfits and the regala of a gaucho. There’s maids and mothers and sugar skull makeup and every type of red and orange flower under the sun adorning the heads of the rest of this party in the wilds.

Keith isn’t dressed up either. They’re the only ones that aren’t.

“Dance with me,” Keith whispers, his hands going to Lance’s hips. “Warm me up.”

Lance had wanted to dance since he felt that heat course through his veins. He starts to move, to grind to the music, flowing into a rhythm with the body in front of him. Keith moves with him, pushing into his space wearing all those heavy layers, his lips pulled into a wild smile.

_A place that no one knows but us_ , Keith had said, but there are at least a hundred people here. Everytime one of them brushes into the two of them, Lance feels his skin burn hotter. He tries to pull Keith closer, wondering why the boy is so cold, why his hands are like ice. Chest to chest, hip to hip, Lance dances with this stranger who’d whisked him away from his boring life.

Lance can’t tell what song is playing. It sounds familiar, but when he tries to pin down the melody, it escapes him. It never ends, never stops, never changes, and yet Lance doesn’t get tired of that compulsive beat. He likes it. He likes dancing to it.

It smells good here, hot, kind of musky, but the wind whisks it away as quickly as Lance smells it. There’s something timeless about this moment, where the music doesn’t stop and the dancing doesn’t stop, and the boy near him just smiles on and on and on.

“Do I know you?” Lance asks, because he feels like he has to at least ask.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Keith says, smiling with his teeth. “You like it here?”

“I love it here,” Lance replies, because he doesn’t want to lie to this boy he just wants to kiss. He wants to kiss him so badly. His papa would kill him if he kissed a boy. Lance thinks, well, how would he ever know?

His papa isn’t here. His papa is at home, hoisting children up in his arms as he laughs and pretends like he loves them. His mama is covering up bruises with makeup, sitting by the door, waiting for the bell. Waiting for Lance to come home.

Lance does not want to go home.

So Lance goes ahead and does it. He kisses Keith, slides their lips together, tastes him and feels like he can’t breathe.

Keith’s lips are so cold, like ice.

But he tastes good. He tastes like cinnamon gum and sticky like candy. He tastes alive. Lance wonders what Keith is tasting on the other end. Does he taste redbull, mixed with cheap gas station coffee, helping wash down a packet of skittles? Can Keith taste the rainbow on Lance’s tongue? Does he taste like the sound of Britney Spears on tinny Pik Quik speakers, like the sharp silent inhale before a car wreck?

Lance wants to ask him, so he does. “What do I taste like?”

“Iron,” Keith answers, “Smoke. It’s okay, I like it.”

Lance thinks that Keith is probably lying to him, but he wants to warm up those lips, to kiss him again, so he leans back in.

Keith meets his forehead with his own, murmuring in that quiet space between their mouths, “I wish I could taste it forever.”

Keith is so cold. How is Keith this cold, when Lance feels like his skin is burning up? Bad circulation, maybe.

Lance is determined to warm him up. He kisses him again and again, feeling Keith laugh and kiss back. It’s easy to get lost in it. He doesn’t get separated from Keith. He just stays there, swaying to the beat, kissing the boy of his dreams in a dark arroyo.

“How’s this happening?” Lance wonders against those cold lips. “Who are you?”

“I’m your friend,” Keith insists. “Stop worrying about it. You said you’d keep me warm, right?”

Lance doesn’t know if he said that. His head is spinning, so he just kisses Keith again. He loses track of time. It’s late. Dark, the moon directly overhead.

“It’s midnight,” Keith sighs, taking a step back, “It’s been fun, Lance.”

He doesn’t want this boy with the weird patches on his leather jacket to leave. He wants to bring him back into his arms, to dance some more.

“Are you Cinderella?” Lance teases. “Have to flee at midnight?”

Keith laughs. It’s a sad laugh, but Lance still loves it. He would die for it. He wants to ask Keith if he can.

“Stay here,” Lance begs. “I don’t want to go back.”

“I can’t, Lance,” Keith sighs, his eyes misty as he looks up at Lance with the kind of face Lance would expect on someone who had known Lance much longer than just a few hours. “I would stay if I could. But I _can’t_.”

Lance can't stay either, but it doesn't stop him from wanting it.

The music seems to be getting quieter as Keith asks, “Did you know that I just turned 19?”

He didn’t know. He’s only 16. He can’t believe he’s been kissing someone so much older than him. Keith doesn’t look 19. The thought of kissing some cool college student while he’s still in high school makes him blush. His friends would laugh so hard if they knew.

“I’m 16,” Lance admits, because Keith is looking at him expectantly.

“I know,” Keith says, “We’re friends, you know. We’ve been doing this for a couple years. And at midnight that’s when I know it’s getting too late. I need to take you back.”

“I don’t want to go back home,” Lance pleads.

“I’m not gonna take you back home. You don’t ever have to go back home, if you don’t want to,” Keith promises. He pulls Lance out of the crowd, the music growing dim as they head over to Keith’s bike. “I can’t leave you out here though. It’s not safe for you.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

He holds onto that cold hand, wondering how Keith is still shivering, even with two coats on. It’s not that cold out. Didn't all that dancing warm him up? Lance felt like he was burning.

“Do you know what day it is?” Keith asks him suddenly.

Lance doesn’t know what day it is. It’s in October, right? It’s… it’s late in October. He can’t remember the date, or the year, but he doesn’t want to look stupid in front of this boy he’s certain he loves. “Wednesday or something?”

“Yeah, it’s Wednesday,” Keith says. “I’ll see you next year, Lance.”

And so Lance’s story ends like it begins. Six hours later, back in the parking lot of the Pik Quik, the lamp gleaming in consistent light, and he wonders if he’s ever going to find Keith again. He’s so cold. Lance gave his jacket away to Keith, and he never asked for it back. Now that he’s standing alone in the parking lot, under the full light, Lance is so so cold.

He should head home. It’s not too far from here, just down off of Motel Boulevard. But Lance doesn’t want to go home yet, even though Keith already left and he’s alone in the dark, sometime early in the morning. It’s before 3 am, the gas station’s cheerful sign tells him as it advertises a 2/$3 deal on Redbull. He’s in so much trouble if he goes home. But the moon and the sound of distant laughter, of kids running from house to house, reminds him that there’s next year, too.

He’s just going to stay here and wait until Keith comes back again.

Lance wants to go dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think happened! Leave a comment telling me who you think died (if anyone) and how!
> 
> Thanks to @melancholymango for the beta!!


End file.
